Potshot
by Balloon Animal
Summary: A short story about Medic's strange surgical instruments. Scout thinks some people should just stick with stamp collecting.


Potshot

"Verdammt! Do not resist! I promise you it vill only feel like a pinch."

Medic was reduced to jabbing his syringe at Scout. The younger man was nimble enough to avoid these frantic attempts to inoculate him, nearly bending backwards when Medic attempted a forward thrust.

"The hell it will! You think I don't remember the last time you tried this?"

"For ze last time that was an accident! I have no idea how the hydrochloric acid got into my cabinet."

Scout scrambled over a gurney, making very sure to keep the bed between him in the doctor. It was a stalemate. They looked each other down, tense with anticipation.

"Scout, did you really expect you could crawl through the loft and not get bitten by a rabid raccoon? The first symptom is paralysis. I hear it is excruciating."

Scout eyed the silver needle warily. "I'll take my chances." He glared at Medic, shrugging off the stiffness in his shoulders.

Medic narrowed his eyes at Scout, light glinting against his glasses. "Fine!" He threw his hands up in defeat. "You win. I hope you enjoy a slow death. I think trismus will do you some good."

Scout wasn't ready to relax. "Yeah. I ain't believing nothing until you put that needle down. Put it over there, in the drawer."

Medic grumbled, but to Scout's relief gave in to his demands. He gently placed his syringe in an open drawer and oh-so slowly closed his shut. "There! Honestly, I have seen you taken a bullet to ze brain and yet you have a problem with a tiny pinprick."

"That's different and you know it. It's not _creepy_."

Medic grumbled with frustration and sank into a chair, kneading his temples. "Well, since you're still here, are there any more maladies you don't want me to treat?"

"Do I look sick to you?" Scout puffed out his chest and waved a hand at his scrawny physique. "'Course I don't. I'm untouchable. Hey… What's this?" Scout's attention span had never been known for its endurance. He was captivated by the long rows of polished medical instruments meticulously lain out on the bench. A strange looking blade caught his interest. It had a carved ivory handle, which put it in stark contrast from its stainless steel brethren. Scout waved it through the air, thinking it looked more like some tribal weapon than a medical tool.

"Zhat is a 17th century circumcision knife. Put it down."

Scout immediately dropped it with a clatter. "Whoa! Gross!"

Medic jumped from his seat cursing foreign expletives. "Dummkoph! Do you know how valuable that is? Get away. Shoo!"

Scout wasn't discouraged. On the contrary, his curiosity was piqued as he looked down at the rest of Medic's macabre collection. Many of them were so bizarre his imagination couldn't help but provide its own explanation for whatever twisted medical procedures they were used for. He picked up a strange contraption that looked like a hybrid between scissors and a clamp. "What do you use this for Doc? Do you scrape people's brains out with it?" He held it close to his face, crossing his eyes and lolling his tongue like a lobotomy patient.

Medic was carefully placing the knife back on the table when he looked at Scout. He couldn't help but smile this time. "Almost. Zhey are haemorrhoid forceps."

"Eugh!" The forceps met the same fate as the knife and landed half way across the room.

"Will you stop doing zhat!"

"Hey man, it ain't my fault you keep this freaky shit." Scout wasn't as keen to handle anything after that. Another contraption caught he eye and he leaned forward to give it a closer inspection. Its very appearance set the hairs up on the back of his neck.

"Ahh, I see you have found my hirtz compass. If you promise not to throw it would you like me to explain?" Medic took the oddity into his hands. It was a spindle of thin steel needles grafted to an adjustable copper rod.

Scout could almost imagine it crawling up his flesh like some kind of metal spider and took a step backward.

"This was quite handy during ze first war. It could determine the depth and direction of a projectile. Personally I find at far more satisfying to locate a bullet the traditional way." He raised his arm and wiggled his wingers.

Scout swallowed, deciding the next time he was shot he would look for help elsewhere. He turned his attention to another object. This one looked like a hammer-cross-eggbeater. He couldn't even fathom what it was used for.

"Ah! Ze Trephine. A classic instrument. You simply attach the spike to ze head and bore into the skull. And to think, accessing the brain used to be such a hassle."

Scout was starting to feel queasy. He loved mutilating as much as the next man, but putting it in such a clinical context was just unsettling.

Medic looked down at these tools with a wistful fondness. "Most of these instruments have fallen out of use. I keep them for posterity and uh… personal interest."

"Okay, I understand a guy needs a hobby. But maybe you should think about collecting baseball cards like a normal person."

"Baseball you say? Well I do have a surgical instrument designed specifically for sporting injuries. Vould you like to see?"

"What really? Yeah."

"It is in ze far back. You need to lean over further or you won't see it. That's right, a little further. Keep looking…"

Scout's belly brushed the bench as he leaned forward, trying to locate this mystery object. "Okay Doc, what am I supposed to be lookin' for – OW!"

He twisted his head to see a triumphant Medic pushing a large needle into his left buttocks. He removed it with a grin and stood back to admire his handiwork.

"Don't forget, Scout. A good doctor is always prepared."


End file.
